


This and That

by faierius



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Freckles, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Silly, drunk, first time writing in this fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 15:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14697135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faierius/pseuds/faierius
Summary: When Baz agreed to be Simon's drinking companion, this wasn't the direction he expected things to go.





	This and That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThatKanraGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatKanraGirl/gifts).



                Baz’s nostrils flared as he eyed the sorry lump of a man occupying the seat next to him on the couch. Surely there were better uses of his time—their time—than this? Well of course there was, but he wasn’t about to pass up this chance, either.

                Though, of course, when he agreed to be the man-lump’s drinking companion, he hadn’t expected _this_.

                _This_ was supposed to be a fun, drunken grope-fest. _This_ , however, had fallen into some morose pity-party. (For Snow only. Baz was actually content with his life at the moment. As content as a vampire could be, anyway.)

                Some days, despite the magickal shrink he spoke with, his curly-haired man-lump got rather down on himself about his drained magic. Baz didn’t blame him, even felt sorry for him. Said as much, in fact. Once, sincerely. But only once. Now he just teases him about it, because who would he—Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch—be, if not the eternal tormentor of Simon Snow?

                At this point, Baz wasn’t even sure what Simon was carrying on about. Whatever topic was spilling forth from those pouting lips also required too much gesturing. Dangerous when one hand very loosely gripped a glass of whiskey. (Why Simon chose whiskey of all things, Baz was entirely unsure,) The liquid inside sloshed, a few drops splashing onto Simon’s fingers and sliding down to his wrist.

                Baz licked his lips. He could shut Snow up by grabbing his wrist and licking away the spilled alcohol. Merlin knew he needed to do _something_. This was becoming pure torture. Not just the babbling, but the shedding of clothing. Occasionally, Snow would pause in his complaining to add a complaint about being too hot. Then an article of clothing would vanish from his body. (Not magickally, of course. Just thrown aside to be found later.) Now Simon was down to his underwear—a ratty pair of grey boxers—and leaning heavily on Baz.

                Pure torture.

                Snow growled low in his throat, in that way he did when things weren’t going his way. Quirking a brow, Baz eyed the man out of the corner of his vision. What a mess he was. An adorable, amazing, drop-dead gorgeous mess. Curly bronze hair falling limply across his forehead, skin flushed from drink, blue eyes half-lidded, freckles and moles begging to be kissed and licked.

                More than once Baz fought the urge to bite at his skin. Wouldn’t do to turn him, would it? (He had offered to do that once as well. Jokingly, of course.) He feared he may injure Snow at the best of times already.

                As his mind wandered to all the things he wanted to be doing right now, he felt wetness seep into his tee-shirt. Snow sloshed his drink again, spilling some on Baz’s shirt.

                “Watch what you’re doing, you drunk,” Baz scolded, narrowing his eyes.

                Snow lifted his head, eyes obscured by hair long overdue for a trim. He sagged against Baz’s arm and appeared to be fighting with himself not to lean in and nuzzle his neck.

                Simon Snow was a melancholy, affectionate drunk. Who would have thought?

                “’M sorry I’m so useless.”

                The annoyance Baz felt about his ruined shirt instantly drained away at those words. He took Snow’s glass, setting it on the coffee table and turning toward the man in the same smooth motion.

                “Take those words back, Snow.”

                Simon’s brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed in the most obnoxiously adorable, foggy manner. (How on Earth could something so cute annoy Baz so much?)

                “Why’re you s’mad?” Simon slurred, slumping against the back of the couch. Eyeing his confiscated drink, his lips turned down in an exaggerated pout.

                Rolling his eyes, Baz took Simon’s hand and linked their fingers together. “Take those words back _now_ , Snow.”

                “Or what? You’ll **Eat your words** at me?” Crossing his arms, Simon huffed.

                “Oh, come off it Snow.” It was Baz’s turn to huff. Indignant though it may be, he huffed more than he cared to admit around Simon. Sometimes it was out of anger or irritation, but more of than not, out of embarrassment. (He’d be dead—well, properly dead—and buried before he even _thought_ about admitting that.)

                Dropping his hands into his lap, Simon’s fingers curled into fists. Clenching his teeth, he finally lifted his head and looked directly into Baz’s eyes. Sharp. Grey with flecks of blue. Full of love. Concern. Why?

                “I am, though. Useless, I mean. Can’t even leave the flat without you or Penny helpin’ me.” There was no heat in Simon’s voice, just flat defeat.

                Grumbling, Baz raked a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “We aren’t helping you, we’re helping everyone avoid wetting their knickers at the sight of you.”

                “Do you think I asked for this?” Simon demanded, sitting up straight, swaying a little.

                “From what you told me, yes.”

                Simon wanted to smack the blank sarcasm off the man. “That’s not what I meant, you dunce.”

                Baz quirked one dark brow.

                “Stop looking at me like that with your horrible gorgeous face.”

                The corner of Baz’ mouth curled with amusement.

                “I swear to Merlin, Baz!”

                “Swear what, Snow? That you aren’t useless? That you never were, and never will be useless? That you are, in fact, immensely use _ful_?” Baz leaned in, blinking softly and tracing an endless, random pattern on Simon’s chest by sliding his finger from one freckle to the next.

                Simon puffed out a breath caught halfway between a scoff and a giggle. “All I’m useful for is helping you get your rocks off.”

                Baz grinned, rising from the couch briefly to swing one leg over Simon’s hips to settle in his lap. He curled his arms around his shoulders and peered down into attentive eyes.

                “As far as causes go, I say that is a noble one.” Bending down, he stole a boozy kiss from Simon.

                Sliding his hands around Baz’ waist, Simon sighed. “Be as cute as you want, but it won’t change my mind.”

                Baz chuckled, low and husky in his throat. “I’m sure I can come up with a convincing argument.”

                Licking his lips, Simon’s skin itched with heat. There was no way he was blushing. It had to be the alcohol.

                “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m magickless,” Simon muttered, pressing his forehead to Baz’s chest.

                “And why might that be?”

                “Because when I go off, I don’t actually want to _go off_.”

                A surprised snort erupted from Baz. “Sweet Crowley!” Hugging Simon’s head, he laughed out loud. “You drunken halfwit.”

                “But I’m _your_ drunken halfwit.”

                “That you are,” Baz sighed, lips curved in an astonished yet affectionately sarcastic smirk. “Perhaps I’ll sober you up a bit before this goes any further.” Arching backward, Baz scooped his wand off the table and pointed it toward the cheap coffee maker on the kitchen counter. “ **Wake up and smell the coffee!** ”

                When Baz turned back to Simon, the man was watching him with a slightly unfocused gaze.

                “You look like you have something to say, Snow.”

                “I spilled on your shirt.”

                “I may forgive you if you wash it for me.”

                “Gotta take it off, first.”

                Baz smirked knowingly at Simon.

                As the coffee pot perked and gurgled in the background, Baz’s clothes joined Simon’s in various corners of the room.

                _This_ was back on track and Baz was more than happy to participate in the drunken grope-fest. Of course, he would never admit he had been looking forward to it all day. If Simon Snow knew just how much Baz needed him, he feared he may not be treated to days like _this_ anymore.

                He’d keep _that_ secret close to his chest for a long time.


End file.
